


alors laisse-moi tenir tes mains (dans les trous de mon pull)

by eliottamoureux



Series: 1940s AU [1]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: 1940s AU, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Songfic, approximately 1000000 nods to skam france canon, daphné's gf amélie ALSO mentoring a recently-out lucas, eliott being beautiful and lucas being weak; the usual, homoerotic tension (duh!), lesbian daphné mentoring a recently-out lucas, parisian gay speakeasy au, period-appropriate internalized homophobia (but only mild!)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21686185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliottamoureux/pseuds/eliottamoureux
Summary: He has a glass pressed to his lips, in the moment just before a drink, but he seems to be just as frozen as Lucas is, looking,staring. Lucas’ stomach turns, he feels like he’s floating, being pulled toward this man across the room. He’s never felt like this before—ever— and if he’s being honest, it scares him. It scares him so much.And so he ducks away, finds somewhere in the room to process, to hide.—or, a story about finding a place where you can finally be yourself, and a person (or rather,people) you can finally be yourself with.
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant
Series: 1940s AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648951
Comments: 8
Kudos: 117





	alors laisse-moi tenir tes mains (dans les trous de mon pull)

**Author's Note:**

> this came from a post in the good 'ol group chat some time ago, after i discovered [this cover of the neighbourhood's 'sweater weather,'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NFpfCD3g18w) and some old-timey elu came to mind. as with all of the ideas that actually end up bearing fruit for me, i've been obsessing over it for the past little while. 
> 
> also, in writing the last third of this or so today, i subconsciously set myself up for another chapter (more chapters, plural?) so let me know if that's something you'd like to see!
> 
> hopefully, this helps to ease the pain for those of us who are currently keeping up with wtFOCK. all will be well, promise!!
> 
> if you're in the mood to chat, you can do that here [or on my tumblr,](https://eliottamoureux.tumblr.com/) which i'm a bit more active on!!
> 
> thank you for reading thus far, and i hope you enjoy!

Lucas can feel his blood thrumming through his veins as he stands in the dark alleyway. He runs the conversation he had with Daphné through his head, again and again.

_ ‘When you get to the door, knock like this— one, two, three, then the same again— one, two, three. Then wait a beat, then one; wait another beat, and then one. It should sound like this: one, two, three... one, two, three… one… one.’ Daphné knocks on the table they’re sat at, on her balcony. Lucas runs the rhythm through his head, before trying it himself. _

_ ‘One, two, three… one, two, three… one… one.’ _

_ ‘Good!’ _

_ ‘And you’re sure this is safe?’ Because as excited as Lucas is, he’s never gone somewhere to put himself out in the open before. _

_ He’s never gone somewhere and been completely and utterly him. _

_ ‘Lucas,’ Daphné takes his hand, gently in hers, ‘I wouldn’t let you go anywhere I wouldn’t go myself.’ _

Lucas approaches the door, looking around to make absolute certain that this door is the right one. He knocks,” One, two, three… One, two, three…” Waits a moment, “One, and… One.” A moment of silence follows, wherein Lucas stands alone in the dark alleyway. Just as he starts to doubt, to think that he may have gotten the specific alleyway wrong after all— a man opens up the door.

“ _ Bonsoir.”  _ The best term Lucas can think of to describe this man is  _ a brick wall.  _ He’s tall, he’s broad— he’s everything Lucas  _ isn’t.  _ Part of him wants to shrink away, wants to apologise for bothering this man and return home, because it hits him now that this is  _ really  _ happening, that he’s  _ really  _ doing this. But he thinks of Daphné, of her encouragement. And so he squares his shoulders, stands his ground.

“ _ Bonsoir. _ ” He says back, tries to ignore the quivering of his hands.

“Password?”

_ ‘It’s what?’ Lucas asks Daphné. _

_ ‘“Chelou.”’ When she repeats the password, Lucas’ eyebrows only furrow deeper, in confusion. ‘Don’t ask me— the owner comes up with them. Said it was ‘louche’ with the syllables swapped.’ She rolls her eyes from behind her mug of coffee, and Lucas chuckles at her. ‘It’s gonna be “the next big thing,” apparently.’ _

_ ‘“Chelou,”’ Lucas repeats, weighing it on his tongue. ‘Hm, I kinda like that.’ _

“Ah… ‘Chelou’?” Lucas says, hesitating more than he has any right to. On his way over, he repeated it to himself like a mantra—  _ chelou, chelou, chelou—  _ so that he wouldn’t mess it up. The man guarding the door looks him up and down, and smiles at him.

“First time here?” He asks, and— more than anything— Lucas wants to ask what gave it away.

“That obvious?”

The bouncer smiles at him knowingly, and he doesn’t respond. He only leads Lucas down a dark hall. As they walk, Lucas can hear music, growing louder and louder. There’s a large door at the end, and the man looks down at him again, smiles. “Welcome to  _ la petite ceinture,”  _ he says, before opening the door.

Lucas, to be quite honest, isn’t sure what he was expecting. What he sees, though, is better than he ever could have imagined. 

People sit, they stand, they talk, they kiss. A singer sways on the small stage, with a few accompanying musicians behind her. Her voice is lovely, it ebbs and flows as the crowd does— or perhaps the crowd flows around her. As he looks around, the many lit cigars in the place cast  _ la petite ceinture  _ in a dreamy haze, and even though Lucas has been in here for all of maybe thirty seconds, he finds it fitting. Laughter erupts from one corner, and in another he can see two women engaged in a moment that is far too intimate for him to be witnessing, and so he casts his eyes quickly away.

When he does, though, he locks eyes with the most beautiful man he’s ever seen.

This man is tall where he stands, across the room— taller than him by a fair few inches, at least, even as he leans against the bar— and he’s dressed simply, a white shirt and black slacks— dark grey, perhaps, the lighting is too low for him to tell. It’s not what he’s wearing that catches Lucas’ eye, but the  _ way  _ that he wears it. Lucas isn’t certain why, but he’s never seen anyone make a shirt and slacks look so good. He has a glass pressed to his lips, in the moment just before a drink, but he seems to be just as frozen as Lucas is, looking,  _ staring _ . Lucas’ stomach turns, he feels like he’s floating, being pulled toward this man across the room. He’s never felt like this before—  _ ever— _ and if he’s being honest, it scares him. It scares him so much.

And so he ducks away, finds somewhere in the room to process, to hide.

“Thank you, everyone, thank you.” The singer says as the applause dies down, after her latest song is over. “I’ll be taking a quick break, so hang tight— and make sure to tip the bartender as generously as you can afford to.” As another round of applause picks up for her as her and her band step offstage, Lucas finds a booth with one empty seat, otherwise occupied with women, chatting animatedly.

“Excuse me,” he says, inwardly cringing at how timid his voice comes out. “Would it be alright if I sit here?” The women look him up and down, pausing in their conversation.

“‘Course.” One of them says, and so he does, uttering a quiet ‘ _ thank you’.  _ “You new?”

“Yeah, I’m— yeah.” He says. Similar to the man at the door, he wants to ask  _ how did you know?  _ But he decides to hold it back. “I don’t really… Know anyone here.” The women lean in a bit, showing him wordlessly that they’re listening. “It actually hasn’t been that long since I… Since I  _ realized  _ that I’m…” It’s still hard for him, to say the actual word. It feels foreign on his tongue, even without saying it. The women, though, immediately know what he means.

“Oh, honey…” One of them takes his hand, so gently. “Well, from all of us, I’m sure— welcome.” This woman reminds him of Daphné, just a bit. And the thought makes him smile. “What you’ve got here is a haven. You’re safe here.” Those are words that Lucas didn’t even know he was waiting to hear, and part of him wants to weep at the comfort of it. To quell that, though, he looks down at his lap for just a moment, to collect himself.

“Thank you,” He says— and then, again— “Thank you.”

“Oh my, ladies— we haven’t even introduced ourselves!” One of them chides, and they all laugh. It’s a musical, uplifting sounds, and Lucas finds himself laughing too, swept away with it.

“I’m Élise,” the one sat beside him says. He shakes her hand lightly.

“Simone,” another says, and he shakes her hand as well.

“And I’m Amélie.” The talkative one says, and,  _ oh!— _

“Wait,” Lucas says, “You wouldn’t happen to know Daphné Lecomte, would you?” When he asks, Amélie’s face positively lights up.

“Oh,” A sly sort of grin makes its way onto her face, “Do I  _ know  _ Daphné.” Her friends laugh. “That woman has my heart in her hands.” The slyness leaves her face, and it’s replaced with what can only be described as  _ longing.  _ “‘ _ Love shook my heart like the wind on the mountain, rushing over the oak trees,’  _ as the poets say— you familiar with Sappho?” Amélie asks him.

“Somewhat...? Daphné mentions her quite a bit, so I’ve caught bits and pieces.” Amélie’s clearly interested as to how he knows her. “I’m Lucas, by the way.”

“Oh,  _ Lucas! _ ” His identity clearly dawns on Amélie, as he throws her hands up in realization. “Of  _ course! _ Daphné talks about you all the time. She said I should expect you here, and  _ voilà _ , here you are. Small world.” Amélie says, and Lucas nods. “Well, ladies and gent, I’m out of booze. Lucas, you wanna come grab a drink?” Lucas nods, and the two of them get up from the table. “Don’t get into trouble, you two.” Amélie says, clearly joking. Simone and Élise only rolls their eyes as Amélie and Lucas make their way to the bar.

“Another rose cocktail for me, please.” Amélie says, reaching her hand out toward the bartender.

“Absolutely,  _ mademoiselle. _ ” The bartender says, and she laughs, light and airy. “And for you?” He asks, turning to Lucas.

“Just some whiskey, please. Neat.” He says, and the bartender nods, getting to it.

“So, Lucas,” Amélie says, nudging him in the shoulder, “Has anyone caught your eye?” Out of instinct, Lucas wants to say  _ no, not really.  _ But then he lets himself think about it.

He thinks of the beautiful man from before.

He thinks of Amélie, only moments ago—  _ you’re safe here, this is a haven. _

_ You’re safe here. _

“Yes,” He says, he  _ lets  _ himself say. Amélie is clearly intrigued, raising an eyebrow in interest. “Before I came over to you three, I saw this man, he was…” Lucas pauses, and tries to find a word to describe him. “Wow.” Lucas laughs, then, at himself. “He was  _ wow. _ ”

“Why aren’t you with this ‘ _ wow _ ’ fella now, then?” Lucas finds himself shying away from the question. He’s only known Amélie for a few minutes, but he already admires her, for the way she’s so bold, in both her questions and her answers.

“I… Don’t know.” The bartender returns to them, placing both their drinks down. They both thank him. “He caught my eye from across the room, and I guess I caught his, too. But then this… This  _ feeling  _ overtook me.” As he thinks about it, the ghost of the feeling returns to him, deep in the pit of his stomach. “I’ve never felt anything like it before, and it— it scared me. And so I hid, I ran from it. And I came over to you three.”  _ And here we are,  _ is left unsaid. As Lucas says it, he already regrets it— not telling Amélie, but the choice itself.

“Lucas,” Amélie pulls him out the spiral that he could feel himself falling into. “Can I give you some advice?” She asks, taking his hand once again. He nods. “I think I know the feeling you’re talking about. I think I’ve felt it before— you want to know where that feeling lead me, when I felt it myself?”

“Where?”

“To Daphné.” Lucas softens, as he thinks of the two of them together. It hits him differently, now that he knows Amélie, if only a little bit. “I remember thinking something similar, when it took me for the first time. It was so  _ new,  _ and so  _ strange,  _ and part of me wanted to run from it, like you did.” Even the idea of such a thing feels so foreign to him, the thought of Amélie running away from anything. She seems to be the sort to run  _ toward.  _ “Because it’s scary, this feeling, especially when you feel it for someone that the world is telling you that you  _ shouldn’t  _ get such a feeling for. But you know what?”

“What?”

“It’s worth following. Because something like this doesn’t happen to just anyone, and it doesn’t happen every day.” She takes a sip of her drink “And you know what else?”

“What else?”

“Everyone who says that this is  _ wrong,  _ everyone’s who’s ‘normal’ who tells us we shouldn’t feel the way that we feel? It’s bullshit.  _ This  _ isn’t wrong,  _ we’re  _ not wrong.” Amélie squeezes his hand, and then lets go, leaning back a bit. “So, Lucas— if I were you— I would down that whiskey, and I would look for this man, see if he’s still around. And if he is, I would chase this feeling, I would give yourself away to it. Because something tells me that there’s  _ something _ there, between you two.” Amélie pulls away from the bar, her drink in hand. “Love is stronger than fear, Lucas.” And then she’s gone, heading back toward her table, and Lucas stands by himself at the bar. He has half a mind to follow her— she may chide him, but he knows that these newfound friends wouldn’t genuinely berate him for his cowardice.

But then Lucas thinks about it, really and truly thinks about it.

_ You’re safe here, _

_ There’s something between you two, _

_ This isn’t wrong, _

_ Love is stronger than fear. _

He tosses the whiskey back in one gulp, winces at the way it burns his throat as it goes down, and then he sets off.

The man clearly isn’t still at the bar— considering Lucas just came from there— and so he does a lap of  _ la petite ceinture,  _ checking every chair, every corner. 

And the man is nowhere to be found.

So Lucas checks again, a bit more carefully this time. There’s many people in here, he could very well have missed him. But his second sweep proves just as unsuccessful as the first. Lucas’ heart falls down into his stomach— he didn’t really think it possible that this man had left, but now it seems a possibility. He stands there, and as the singer approaches the stage, he can feel his heart start to break. 

“Thank you for your patience, everyone.” She says, amidst the crowd’s cheers at her return. “Now, let’s get back into it, shall we?” Lucas sees a small crowd of people enter as the band swings up into a prelude, and then,  _ then— _

_ ‘Je ne suis qu'une femme, _

_ Je veux le monde entre mes mains, _

_ Je déteste la plage, _

_ Mais je reste debout, _

_ Avec mes orteils dans le sable,’ _

It’s as if the crowd  _ parts,  _ even with Lucas is only perhaps a dozen feet from the door, and all of a sudden, there  _ he  _ is.

There he is, and their eyes meet once again.

There he is, and this time Lucas doesn’t shy away. He lets the pull return, and now, he lets himself be pulled. A step, and then another.

“It’s you.” Lucas is  _ just  _ close enough to hear him, and those two words alone have his heart raring to leap out of his chest completely.

“It’s  _ me? _ ” He asks. This time, when he steps forward,  _ he  _ does, too. They’re silent for a moment, and the other man breathes out a sigh, his eyes big in the low light.

“I saw you the moment you came in, and I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you since.” It’s as if this man has reached into Lucas’ dreams, and pulled every single word he says to him from his wildest fantasies. He then ducks his head a bit, and Lucas can see the barest hint of a blush painting his cheeks. “Oh, goodness, I’m sure that sounds like I’m some sort of stalker.” Lucas shakes his head almost instantly.

“No, not at all. I’ve, ah… I’ve actually been looking for you.” The man’s eyes go big once more, and he smiles, just a bit. Lucas wants him to smile like that always, he thinks.

“Oh?”

_ ‘Use the sleeves of my sweater _

_ Let's have an adventure _

_ Head in the clouds but my gravity's centred _

_ Touch my neck and I'll touch yours _

_ You in those little high-waisted shorts, oh,’ _

“Since we saw each other, earlier.” Lucas thinks back to it, as the singer kicks her way into the bridge of her song. “I’m… New to this whole scene, and when I looked at you, something came over me, this new and strange feeling, and so I ran from it.” His eyebrows turn upward, sympathetic. “But then I talked to a friend, and I realized that I don’t have to be afraid.”

“You don’t.” He affirms.

“And so now, I’m not.” Lucas’ favourite part about what he says, is the fact that it’s become true.

“Not afraid?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Not afraid.” Lucas says, with a gentle shake of his head. The man smiles his biggest smile yet, and the way it lights up his entire face makes Lucas’ knees go weak.

“I’m glad.” 

“Me too.” Lucas has never been part of a silence that is so comfortable, yet so charged. “I’m Lucas, by the way.”

“Eliott.” He says, then— “I’m Eliott.” Then, because the whiskey is  _ just  _ starting to hit him, he can’t resist testing the name out on his tongue.

“ _ Eliott. _ ” 

“It sounds so good, when you say it,” Eliott says, his chin tilting back just a touch, and Lucas is overcome with the urge to get closer, to touch, but  _ then— “Lucas.”  _ and  _ oh,  _ suddenly Lucas understands exactly what Eliott meant, because he doesn’t think his own name has ever sounded better. He feels his limbs start to loosen a bit, his inhibitions take a step back.

“I may also be the  _ slightest  _ bit drunk, which gives me the courage to tell you the truth—” And, because he can, Lucas takes the smallest step in closer, coming into Eliott’s space, “That you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and that I would sell my soul to dance with you.” Eliott’s breath catches, and his eyes go a little hooded. With every passing moment, Eliott shows him something new. Lucas can’t get enough of it.

_ ‘She knows what I think about, _

_ And what I think about— _

_ One love, two mouths, _

_ One love, one house, _

_ No shirt, no blouse, _

_ Just us, you'll find out, _

_ Nothing that I wouldn't wanna tell you about, no,’ _

“Lucky for you, Lucas— you won’t have to sell your soul.” Eliott takes a little step in of his own, and they’re  _ close, _ now. If Lucas leaned in, just a bit more—

“No?” Maybe he could just, maybe  _ they _ could—

“No, because I was about to ask you the same thing.” And then Eliott’s pulling away, taking him by the hand, pulling him away from the door and into the room, closer to the music and the crowd. Their dance is improvised— and Lucas was correct, earlier, about the height difference— but he wouldn’t trade this for anything, for all of the riches in the world. They step together, swaying to the slower tune. It’s enchanting, the way the singer weaves a story, the way the band accompanies her. Lucas wonders if the dreaminess of  _ la petite ceinture  _ was intentional or not— but he doesn’t wonder long, for Eliott’s smile pulls him out of his little reverie.

“What?” He asks, smiling himself.

“You’re so handsome.” Even in his tipsy state, he wonders how Eliott can say such a thing so unabashedly. He feels his face go hot, but he’s still unable to look away. At this point, he isn’t sure he wants to.

_ ‘Il fait trop froid _

_ Pour toi ici et maintenant, _

_ Alors, laisse-moi tenir _

_ Tes mains dans les trous de mon pull—’ _

“You’re one to talk,” Is Lucas’ retort. Eliott is beside him, moving to the music. Lucas isn’t sure how he does it, how he sways his hips and moves his arms in a way that looks like the song was made for him. Lucas is moving to the music himself, but he’s not  _ nearly  _ drunk enough to not overthink every movement. Eliott, though— Eliott has him in  _ awe _ .

_ ‘And if I may just take your breath away _

_ I don't mind if there's not much to say _

_ Sometimes the silence guides our minds _

_ So move to a place so far away, yeah,’ _

Eliott takes his hands, stretches their arms out until they’re flush against one another. Their heartbeats aren’t quite in sync, and he’s no longer sure which one is his own. 

He’s not sure he cares.

_ ‘The goose bumps start to raise, _

_ The minute that my left hand meets your waist, _

_ And then I touch your face, _

_ Put my finger on your tongue _

_ 'Cause you love the taste, yeah,’ _

One of Eliott’s hands slide their way around Lucas’ waist, and he feels the skin there start to prickle with warmth at the contact. He reaches his arms up to Eliott’s neck in response. Eliott tilts his head back, to give Lucas more space.

_ ‘Ces cœurs adorent, _

_ Tout le monde les autres battent plus forts, _

_ Inside this place is warm _

_ Outside it starts to pour’ _

Lucas leans in, then, and presses their foreheads together. He can hear Eliott utter a small gasp at the contact, and he grins at it, looking up and into Eliott’s eyes, all timidness now long gone. He feels invincible, he feels ready to take what he wants.

_ ‘Coming down,’ _

And Lucas  _ wants. _

_ ‘One love, one house,’ _

They’re pressed together one moment, and they’re not in the next. Before Lucas even has time to wonder what’s happening, Eliott spins him around, once, twice. They both laugh with it— before the moment hung heavy between them, but this lightens it, makes it into something fun. And Lucas  _ is  _ having fun, here with Eliott— more than he’s ever had before, perhaps.

_ ‘No shirt, no blouse,’ _

But then—  _ then—  _ Eliott has pulled him back in, and they’re so,  _ so  _ close. Their noses are very nearly touching, and it steals all of the air out of Lucas’ lungs. He can just manage to make out Eliott’s eyes from this close to him, and it’s very clear where he’s looking.

_ ‘Just us, you find out,’ _

Lucas realizes, then, that he’s never wanted something so much in his life. That he would die for it, for Eliott to come just a bit closer, to just lean  _ in— _

_ ‘Nothing that I wouldn't wanna tell you about, no, no, no,’ _

And then, in a moment of wish fulfillment or perhaps simply the world’s best coincidence— Eliott  _ does. _

_ 'Cause it's too cold _

_ For you here _

_ So now let me hold _

_ Both your hands in the holes of my sweater’ _

If you had asked Lucas is he believed in magic, he would have answered  _ no,  _ without hesitation, in every moment before this one. Now, though, every single nerve in his body comes alive as Eliott kisses him, as he kisses Eliott. The music fades away, the voices of everyone else in  _ la petite ceinture  _ go with it— the only things he can hear are their breaths, their lips. He hears Amélie, from before—  _ this isn’t wrong, we’re not wrong—  _ and he realizes as he snakes his arms around Eliott’s waist to pull him even closer, that he believes her, now. 

This isn’t wrong— this  _ cannot  _ be wrong— because the sound Eliott makes when he licks into his mouth is exquisite; the way he clutches him like he’ll die if he lets go is divine; the way the fit together cannot be simple chance— a higher power is the only explanation, Lucas decides.

“ _ Lucas,” _ Eliott breathes as he pulls away— though only momentarily, for before Lucas can protest, he’s grazing his lips along the skin of Lucas’ neck, feather-light. Eliott latches his mouth onto Lucas’ neck— sucking, kissing— and when he grazes his teeth along the lower part of his neck, Lucas makes a noise that he’s not sure he’s ever made before. It all feels so  _ good,  _ and Lucas can feel himself getting lost in it. He’s never been so content before, to just let himself go.“You’re beautiful, you’re  _ so _ beautiful.” And suddenly, Lucas is taken aback. Eliott continues, but his voice rings through Lucas’ head. It’s not until Eliott makes his way back upward, trailing kisses on the way to Lucas’ lips and his own hit a damp cheek, that Lucas realizes he’s started to cry.

“Lucas,” And then Eliott is gone, he’s pulled away. “I’m sorry, did I—”

“No one’s—” Lucas interrupts Eliott, and his voice is hoarse. “No one’s called me beautiful, before you.” All at once, Eliott softens. He leans in again— but this time, though, it’s to press chaste kisses to Lucas’ cheeks, swiping away the tears with his thumbs.

“Oh, Lucas.” He coos, and Lucas only wants to cry harder, from the tenderness in Eliott’s voice. He’s never been vulnerable like this—  _ especially  _ around another man— and so to have Eliott like this, and to be like this around Eliott, and to have Eliott show him concern, show him  _ comfort— _

“You’re like something out of a dream.” If Lucas is being honest, though— he’s  _ better.  _ All of Lucas’ dreams, ever since he was little, with him and another boy, then another man— none of them could have  _ ever  _ thought up someone like him, of a moment like this. As if this moment couldn’t get any better, Eliott pulls him, wordlessly, into a hug. 

As the song comes to an end, Lucas lets himself be held.

“Well, everyone, this concludes my work for the night,” The singer yells over the crowd, as the calm down. “I must say— you _ might _ just be the best crowd I’ve ever sang to.” More cheering rings out. Lucas doesn’t think he’s ever been this enthusiastic at  _ this  _ hour in his life. “Thank you for tonight, as always— and remember that love will always win, in the end.” She then waves, as she leaves the stage. “I’ll see you, same time, same place, next week! Thank you, and goodnight!” Eliott pulls him in, again, and Lucas inhales his scent deeply. The crowd starts to leave, and Eliott smiles at him sadly, when they finally pull apart again.

“Lucas,” He says, and Lucas doesn’t like the tone of his voice. “I have to go.”

_ Oh. _

“Oh.” He knew, he supposes, that tonight would have to come to an end somehow. Not everyone can be like Daphné and Amélie— most fairy tales have an end.

“Hey, hey—” But then Eliott’s holding Lucas’ face in his hands, and Lucas risks looking up into his eyes once more. “Not because I  _ want  _ to, alright? I would stay here with you forever, if I could.” And how can Lucas  _ not  _ melt, at words like those? His lips fall agape as his breath catches in his throat. “But, alas, work waits for no one— I have an early morning, tomorrow.” Eliott kisses him quick— once, twice, thrice. “But how about this— you, me,  _ here—  _ same time next week?” Eliott grins when Lucas’ smile returns to his face. His heart was just about ready to break— but Eliott has shown him that it’s safe, in his care.

“Yeah, I’d love that.” They kiss, and Lucas presses an extra one to Eliott’s cheek.

“It’s a date, then.” Eliott whispers against his skin. Lucas pulls back.

“A  _ date _ ?” Eliott only nods in response, before littering kisses all over his face.

“Mm. And I’ll dream of you, until then.” 

“Goodnight, Eliott.” And then, Eliott turns— then, Eliott leaves. Lucas thought that he would be left heartbroken, left wanting, but the only things he’s left with are the ghost of every kiss that he and Eliott shared, written across his skin in invisible ink, and a gentle, buzzing excitement for next week. So then he turns to leave, but before he can, he feels a hand on his shoulder— and when he turns, it’s Amélie. They share a silent moment, smiling at each other. Lucas doesn’t have to tell her anything— the way she’s looking at him tells him that she knows  _ everything. _

“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” She says, and they share a laugh, before she leans in, her voice quiet. “Also, if you could tell some of this to Daphné, that would be much appreciated. I could use some brownie points with my lady.” Lucas laughs, again— he’s been doing a lot of that tonight, he realizes.

“Sure thing.” They’re about to part ways, outside now, but then Amélie stops.

“And hey, Lucas?”

“Yeah?”

She smiles at him, again.

“You should be proud of yourself, for tonight. Because I certainly am.” Then Amélie is gone into the night, and Lucas feels the urge to cry for another time. Then he leaves himself, and— though he was only in there for an hour or two, tops— it’s almost as if he’s a different person. When he was on his way here, he was scared— of authenticity, of vulnerability, of what waited behind the door to  _ la petite ceinture.  _

Now, though— he has some new friends, who brought him in with open arms, to a unfamiliar place that already feels like a second home.

He has plans— he has a  _ date _ — with the most beautiful man, who he’s absolutely taken with, and who's absolutely taken with him.

And, he thinks as he walks, the giddiest of smiles on his face, he feels more himself than he ever has before.


End file.
